One Day, 15th July

My friends have found a new obsession.  In the past these phases have been centered around the strictly make believe; wizards and vampires.  I too have been swept along, swooning over R-Patz and idolizing Emma Watson, but this year’s fixation is getting under my skin, in all the wrong ways.  One Day by David Nicholls tracks the life of two friends over the course of a lifetime, by narrating the events of the 15^th July every year.  It sounds like a brilliant concept, even a brief description of the characters and plot line had me excited to get started.  Star crossed lovers, missed opportunities and gut wrenching endings are right up my street.  I have no problem bawling my eyes out at books, films, music, well anything really and I was guaranteed a good old cry.  Or so I was lead to believe.  I have shed tears, but only of frustration that I have embarked on this disastrous journey.  Put it down if you hate it, I hear you yell, but unfortunately this is not an option.  Once I start, I must finish (a mantra for all things).  I admit, maybe I’m a bit bitter.  Romance in real life is just not how it is in the movies (or novels for that matter).  Do men ever come good?  Do two people who have been skirting around each other for years really get it together?  Not a discussion for now.  There was one redeeming feature, it got me thinking…

15^th July 2004

10 days to go.  I’ve been waiting for five years for this and now it’s the final countdown.  I don’t know how I feel, I’m sure I will on the day.  The last two years have been a struggle; A levels, university applications, Milo.  Milo Milo Milo.  What will happen to us?  Of course we won’t last, but maybe we will.  I love him but he’s  a law unto himself.  I’ve spent hours of my life being stood up by him, speaking to his Mother about how he’d lost his phone…again, crying because I don’t understand why he can’t just put me first, just once.  I turn over in the dark and try to imagine myself in South America.  I haven’t even looked at a picture, or read a guide book.  Then I transport myself to Thailand, India, the Taj Mahal.  Will I meet people, will I get lost, will I meet someone else? 

15^th July 2008

Last day in Buenos Aires.  I love this city, I love this country, hell I love this continent, I want to live here forever.  Woody’s last day.  I am sad but it’s his own fault.  He chose his job over me.  Mendoza tomorrow, and then onto Santiago.  I remember Santiago from few years ago, or should I say I remember Paulo...  This trip took months to plan, this time I didn’t want to miss a thing, so I have an itinerary planned to the minute.  Next year will be stressful; finals and job applications so this summer is all my own, just to have fun.  Brazil was beautiful; the Campo Grande national park was teeming with wildlife, unfortunately only the backside of a capybara but supposedly they’re now in Edinburgh Zoo. 

15^th July 2009

Hoi An, Vietnam is so peaceful, an oasis of still and calm.  It is only Abbey and myself, this is the first time we’ve spent alone in a couple of weeks.  But what a fortnight it’s been.  We stroll down the river which is lit with the soft glow of Chinese lanterns strung across the fading paint of the colonial buildings, beer in hand, reminiscing.  It started in Vang Vieng, Laos on our friends Gemma’s birthday.  We sipped cocktails in the sunshine while floating down the river.  Later that evening, at dinner, Gemma rushed in to squeal my degree result at me; a first class honors with an award to boot.  I suffered for the celebrating, but Luang Prubang, with its glittering gold temples and flame red walls restored me.  I prayed, I’m not religious but it seemed the right thing to do in this pious town.  I thought of Wesley a lot, my partner in crime while I was a teenager, had died in January, suddenly.  He had always worn a St Christopher, like the one I wore now.  Then it was onto Halong Bay, Vietnam.  The Colombian, Nico had stolen the show despite the raw beauty of the rugged rock skyscrapers jutting majestically from the blue green depths of the sea.  We giggled conspiratorially at this, perched on a bench and opened another beer.

15^th July 2011

The ward is dark and silent.  Every now and then a nurse silently pads past my curtained cubicle.  I can hear her, but not see her.  The canulator in my wrist itches, and the tubes running out of it are getting tangled despite my stillness.  I had spent the week counting down the minutes for the weekend to finally arrive.  Instead of picking up my old friend Cheryl at the airport, and heading for Windsor for some royal history, or Oxford for Pimms on a punt, we had headed to hospital.  We hadn’t seen each other since Senegal in 2009, but I suppose there’s no better way to bond than 6 hours in a waiting room.  Luckily she’s a student of public health, and I was desperately trying to sell this as a learning opportunity.  And then there was tomorrow, it might still be redeemed.  He had seemed concerned on the phone, he had been away, I hoped he’d missed me. 

“Don’t die” he said, “or you’ll have me to answer to”.